Paper Hearts and Torn Sleeves
by Kavaul
Summary: When Harleen Quinzel is assigned to Scarecrow instead, her transformation into Harlequin is slow and painful - but the product may be worth it. Harlcrow. AU.


Author's note - I'm not writing this for your pleasure, first of all. I like reviews, but I'm writing this because _I_ want to, and this has been rolling around in my head for a few months. It's a – yes – Harlequin and Scarecrow fanfiction.

I can take criticism, but if you outright hate this, I suggest you find some valid points and proceed or leave. If, let's say, I find a flame on chapter 12, then I will respond with 'then why did you read it?'

That being said, this is my first real fanfiction – I plan for this to be an ambitious work on my terms, if I can get enough time to do it right. Please, review and tell me if there are any errors in my writing.

English is not my original language; sign language is, and sign language lacks grammar, so please correct me if there is anything wrong.

I find bold irritating, so you'll find it only in the titles.

**Divergent point;**

'_She clung to that which had robbed her, as people will'_

-A Rose for Emily

Harleen Quinzel woke up bright and early, exuberant in the face of the sharp, cool morning. It was going to be her first day of a serious assignment at Arkham Asylum – she'd been training for months before encountering a real supervillain.

These thoughts followed her around the room, nagging at her and swiftly departing once she saw the time. Harleen quickly got everything together and rushed out the door.

'My day is going to be great,' she reassured herself, sniffling against what seemed to be a cold as she ran into Arkham, stopping only to scan her ID card and thumbprint.

Harleen slowed down, trying to look calm and cool as she came closer to the secretaries' desk. "Hey," The secretary said, brushing dark hair behind her ears and looking closely at Harleen. "You're…" There was a pause. "Harleen Quinzel," Harley finished, peering at the secretary entering her name in.

She signed the slip of paper, putting it into her marked box as signed in, and, taking her coat off and putting it onto the rack, walked off to her superior's office. Harley knocked on the door, adjusting her doctor's coat and classy skirt, and waited.

Dr. Young opened the door, slim and backlit by the warmer lighting in her office. Her voice warmed at seeing Harleen; "Harley – just the person I was looking for. We've just gotten the Joker back."

Harley turned even more cheerful at this news, sneezing and wiping her nose before she came in. "Really? Can I take him?" She sounded excited, but Dr. Young was less so.

Young smiled at her protégé, but her doubts increased when she saw Harley's red face and slightly running nose. "Do you have a cold?" She asked, suddenly. Harleen frowned – "Yeah, I think so. Why? It's not like it'll affect my analysis on him. I think I can help him – I've studied his cases." Her face was bright with promise.

Dr. Young paused, then answered slowly, "No, but that may make him think that you are more… vulnerable. Also, the sedatives and medicines we use for him – the Batman is hardly a child vigilante armed with Nerf guns – make him very open to things like the common cold. We've given him shots for everything else, of course."

Harleen was quiet, thoughtful, getting into a chair and grabbing tissues. "So… someone else will take him." She said, a little dejected. "Well, who can I take, then?" Her spirits lifted a little at that, watching Dr. Young's reaction.

The other woman stayed silent, then said, "I… believe you could take Scarecrow. He's very sedate – usually – and I believe that you could…" Dr. Young frowned, sitting down as well and folding her hands. "…learn something of the psyche from him. He may have gone insane, but he is still a great mind."

The younger woman of the two brightened at the description, brushing blonde hair back from her face. "…So I can take him?" She asked, eager, and Dr. Young replied with some amusement, "Yes. Many people want the Joker, but I can save Scarecrow for you, at the very most."

Harley smiled, getting up from her seat, and Dr. Young mirrored her. "So it's settled," Dr. Young stated, decisive. "We'll give you some low-key work today so you can get over your…" An eyebrow raise. "Cold," She finished. Harley grinned, grabbing tissues and making her way out.

The day was mainly uneventful – there were some 'schizophrenics' from the local Mob, who she'd taken care of neatly with very little fuss. One, however, she'd admitted to the asylum – he seemed genuinely insane. This wasn't for lack of experience, either.

Harley was known for being one of the best and brightest doctors, if not overly friendly with Dr. Young and others, the exception being Warden Sharp. Rumors had gone about a few rounds of 'she slept her way to the top' but eventually died down.

Harley hated those rumors – she'd had to go through them, personally. Driving home, she thought about Red in her small apartment, and wondered if she should visit. Pamela Isley had been Harleen Quinzel's best friend ever since they were children, and the friendship ball hadn't stopped rolling just yet.

She decided it was too late, and headed home, unlocking the door into her fair-sized apartment and walking in. Harley was excited about getting the Scarecrow, although she could've gotten the Joker – it had been close, but in the end Dr. Young had also gently told her that she might be too inexperienced.

But even one day lost getting better from being sick was enough for ten or twenty doctors to go after and reserve their places for Joker's sessions.

Flopping onto her bed and curling up, Harley grabbed the phone without hesitation, dialing in Pamela's number and waiting. It might be late, but this was good enough news that Red would forgive her.

Pam answered the phone, groggy and snappish, but Harley beamed into the phone, rolling onto her back. "I got Scarecrow for my next patient!" She said in a loud whisper to her friend, and Pam gave a mildly disapproving noise.

"I d'nno why you wanna' spend time with _criminals_, Harls," Pamela said over the phone, and then there was a rustling sound of someone burrowing deeper underneath their blankets. "Plants are so much better, y'know…"

Harley continued along this vein, Pamela giving halfhearted answers that increased in clarity the longer she stayed up.

Eventually, though, Harley hung up and turned onto her side, closing her eyes and letting sleep wash over her. She dreamed of glowing eyes and syringe fingers, and of deep, deep water that closed in over her head. She relaxed and sank underneath the tide, looking up above where she could see a Batman signal distorted by the waves.

After that, she dreamed of nothing, and forgot the dream when she woke up.


End file.
